One in 13 Million
by Elessar1201
Summary: In one of my graduate classes, we were studying the effects of homelessness on learning. Our teacher gave us a list of vocabulary words and asked us to write a short story using those words. I'm not sure this is what my professor had in mind, but I hope I did justice to the point. The title refers to the fact that about 13 million children in the US are homeless.


_Author's note: __This story was born in one of my graduate classes. We were studying the effects of homelessness on learning and our teacher gave us a list of vocabulary words and asked us to write a short story using those words. This story will make it clear where my mind went. I'm not sure this is what my professor had in mind, but I hope I did justice to the point. The title refers to the fact that about 13 million children in the US are homeless._

**One in 13 Million**

"Come _on_, miss!"

"It's nine o'clock, open up!"

"We've been waiting all night!"

"We're _hungry_…"

Dusk was settling on the city, but in the alley it was already night. Children, some of them very young, crowded around the back door of the Italian diner. The diner didn't close until eleven, but around nine or so the owner's daughter and son started to clean up, and that meant that a few leftovers somehow ended up in the grubby hands pounding on the door in the alley behind the restaurant.

The door opened a crack, spilling a sharp line of yellow light across the pavement. The shrill voices of the children got louder, except for the voice of one skinny boy who stood stiffly in the shadows, hands clasped behind his back.

Maria's dark, curly head poked out of the door. "If you don't quiet down, you won't get anything!" she snapped. "You're disturbing the customers!"

"But we're _hungry_…" a small girl said.

The clamoring group settled a little, but the small girl's plaintive voice could be heard over their mutterings and sniffles. Maria looked down at her.

"I know, sweetheart," she said. "But if we chase away the customers, the restaurant will close down altogether, and then what will you do?"

The little girl didn't seem to understand—at least, the boy in the shadows could see no other reason for the tear that slid down her dirty cheek. Maria closed the door and the children sank one by one to the dirty alley pavement.

Spock listened to their conversations with both concern and confusion. Of course, he was not supposed to feel concern for alien life forms, just the general respect for life that all Vulcans experienced. Yet, even with his superior powers of observation, he was puzzled as to why they were so suddenly quiet. Usually the desperation born of hunger made them even more rude and demanding.

Unless…they had simply lost hope that they would ever get what they needed. That would not have been surprising to Spock. They ran the streets from dawn to dusk, seeking food and safe shelter for themselves because nobody else could do it, or could do it as well. Big dark eyes in a small child's sunken face were hard to resist. But nobody seemed to have any trouble resisting tall, skinny, older-looking boys.

Or aliens.

But there came a time when it availed nothing to ask and keep asking. That was when children left. He hadn't been on the streets that long, just a few weeks, but he'd already noted the disappearances. He had done some research on his school's computer. The lost children were either taken into foster care, or their families moved to look for fresher job or charity markets. Or they became old enough or savvy enough to sell their bodies for intoxicants that would help them forget the hunger.

He did not intend to engage in that activity. Yet deep down, he wondered how long he would be able to avoid it.

_No true Vulcan would even consider it._

But hadn't his father said he was no true Vulcan? That was why his parents had fought, why Amanda had taken Spock and returned to her home planet.

_Where people aren't so bigoted, and Spock can be himself for once!_

"Here, you little beggars."

The bar of light spread across the pavement and Maria's pretend exasperation spread with it. She passed out foil-wrapped packages that Spock knew would contain thick garlic bread, steamed vegetables, and a delicious earth dish called pasta. The children jumped up with one concentrated movement and by the time Maria had passed them all out, each child held two packages of food.

Spock waited, standing alone in the shadows, as the children dispersed, some to hold their food and eat it secretly, some to share their meager portions with their families. He realized he was leaning against the ancient brick and stood straight, smoothing his tunic as he did.

"Go on, now," Maria snapped. "That's all I've got. Don't expect this every night."

Spock's stomach churned, burned by the potent acid roiling in its cavernously empty space.

_Vulcans can go days without eating,_ he reminded himself. _Weeks even. That's what Father says._

Father had been going to show him that skill, how to discipline his body so that he needed neither sleep nor food for long stretches of time. But that had been before Mother and Father had quarreled, before Mother had left Vulcan and moved Spock to Earth.

The children scattered, some tearing open their packages as they ran, some tucking them under torn and dirty t-shirts, until Spock was alone. It took all his considerable will power not to clutch his hands over his stomach in some misguided, human attempt to suppress the hunger.

_Vulcans suppress their bodily urges with their minds, not their hands._

He kept his hands stiffly at his sides as he approached the door. A wave of dizziness swept over him, but he gritted his teeth against it. _Vulcans are not at the mercy of their bodily urges._ He knocked at the door, but he had little strength and the sound was very faint even to his own ears.

He knocked again and stood straight-backed, fists clenched against the fine tremor that had started in his fingers. _Father is right. You're no kind of Vulcan. You ate nearly a week ago and yet your weakness overtakes you._

It was foolish to wait here. He'd been watching for a week, but the lady never came back to the door once she sent the children away with leftover food. Sometimes the other one—a muscular young man who Spock presumed was the son-came through to empty the garbage, and Spock would sink deeper into the shadows, but he somehow knew it was the lady he needed to see, not any of the other employees.

It seemed that the lady would not return tonight. He had no desire to join the clamoring crowd of undignified children who beat on the door each night at nine o'clock, but if he didn't find food by tomorrow night, he might have no choice. His mother would require sustenance as well, and because she was human, she could not avoid eating for more than a day or two.

Another wave of sweaty dizziness washed over him, and he leaned briefly against the brick wall. It was distasteful and dirty, but cool against his skin. His eyelids fluttered slowly closed, first the inner then the outer.

"Maria!"

A loud male voice disturbed him—what was he doing? Leaning? That would never do. Father would be ashamed to see him like this. He attempted to push away from the wall, but only sank lower against it, falling to the alley floor and scraping the skin off his face.

"Maria, girl, get out here! It's that alien kid!"

Of course they meant him. No matter where he went, he was _that alien kid_. He was disturbing them, and he must not inconvenience Maria or the other children might not be able to get food the next day.

He clutched the wall, determined to stand straight and on his own two feet again. First, he straightened his sagging knees—

"Oh, _bambino_!" It was the lady, the one whose voice meant food and survival and even a rough sort of affection. "Vito, forget the garbage. Pick this boy up and bring him inside."

"Yeah, fine, hold your horses," Vito mumbled. There was the sound of the garbage bag hitting the bottom of the Dumpster and then Spock was lifted off his feet, a thick arm beneath his shoulders and knees. He held himself stiffly, unwilling to receive the human's mental transmissions, but not quite able to block them.

_Damn kid can't weigh eighty pounds soaking wet. Why didn't he grab some food when the other ones did? What the hell's he been doing, lurking behind the Dumpster like that all week?_

Yet another way in which Spock had failed. He had presumed himself unnoticed in his observations.

"Look, Vito, he's hurt!" The woman's voice cried out at the same time Vito thought, _What the hell's that green stuff all over his face?_

The man holding him flinched. "Crap, Maria, is that his _blood_?"

_What happened to this kid?_

"Yes, he's a Vulcan, I think. See his ears? Put him down there, in that chair."

"Hope he doesn't fall right out of it," Vito grunted.

Spock's body tilted and he was set gently into a cool metal chair. He fought to open his eyes. _I am a Vulcan. I am in control of my body and my emotions._

The strong arms pulled away from him and he sagged forward onto the table in front of him. The side of his face throbbed. That would not do. He must not look weak. He willed his eyelids to open a set at a time. Then slowly, deliberately, he placed his placed his palms flat on the table in front of him and pushed himself erect.

That was better. He sat stiffly, properly, and raised his eyes to the woman. With her dark hair, almond eyes, and faintly upswept eyebrows, she could have passed for a Vulcan if she'd had the ears. Not that any Vulcan woman would look so…exotic in public.

"I was worried about you for a minute," she said softly. "Let me get something to clean you up a bit."

He sat straighter and slid his eyes away, doing his best to look disinterested. "I apologize if I have distressed you. It was not my intention."

She looked over his head and he heard the male move away. Then she sank down next to him and began gently to wipe the blood from his face.

"This might sting a little." She pulled a small aerosol can from her apron pocket and sprayed his face. It did sting, but the coolness of it felt good as well. "Are you all right now?"

"Yes, of course." He hated the pity in her voice. He should not be an object of pity. He was of the clan of S'chn T'gai, son of the Vulcan ambassador to Earth, great-great-grandson of the renowned T'Pau.

But on Vulcan, if a father allowed his bondmate and child to go hungry and homeless, the shame was the father's. Here on Earth, somehow the shame belonged to the child.

_And you should not have such an emotional reaction to one human's ignorance. Detach yourself from their emotions. _

"I bet…" She spoke to him like he was a child. He did not feel like a child, but perhaps he seemed like one to them. It was true that he had not yet attained his full stature. "I bet I know what would help."

She touched him on the shoulder, and he flinched. She bit her lip and drew her hand back.

"Here you go, kid." The male, Vito, set a plate next to him. "Eat up."

Vito moved around the table and set down another plate, then pulled out the other metal chair. He picked up his spoon, gathered some pasta on his fork, twirled it into a bite-sized portion against the spoon and popped it into his mouth.

Spock glanced at the heaping plate of pasta next to him. Aside from two large sausages that rested on top of the heaping portion, the mixture of noodles, vegetables and sauce seemed very much like something they would eat on Vulcan.

He took a shuddering breath and snapped his jaw closed. His hands dropped into his lap and his long fingers dug into his thighs.

"My apologies once again, miss." His face was blank, his voice formal and expressionless. "Your kindness is appreciated, but I did not come here in search of food. I had another purpose entirely."

_It looks very good. _

Maria stood up from her squatting position. "You're really going to try to tell me you're not hungry?"

"Rather," Spock said, swallowing so his voice wouldn't shake too much, "I came seeking work. I am strong and learn quickly."

That seemed satisfactory. It was not a lie.

Vito snorted and shoved another forkful of pasta into his mouth. "How old are you, kid? Twelve? Gotta be thirteen, tops."

Spock did not respond.

Maria pulled out the chair between Spock and Vito. "What is your name?"

He dropped his eyes, and tried not to see the plate of food. The slight downward motion of his head placed his nostrils directly in the steam rising from the noodles.

His mouth watered, but he forced himself to speak. "Spock."

"Just Spock? No last name?"

His mother had laughed as she had tried to pronounce it. His stern, disapproving father had even seemed quietly amused in his human wife's presence.

What had happened to them? All Spock really understood was that it was his fault.

"Just Spock."

He didn't think it likely that they would know his father's name, but he must not risk bringing shame on his clan. No son of S'chn T'gai could be seen begging for food.

"And how old are you, Spock?"

He raised his eyes again. Should he tell her? He was not certain how age relationships worked on Earth…was his real age too old or too young? The male before him—Vito—was not quite mature and he was permitted to work.

He cleared his throat. "Ten."

Maria exhaled softly. "Ten," she breathed. "Heaven help us."

She reached out a hand as though to lay it across his, then pulled it back. "Do you go to school?"

"Yes."

"Do they feed you there?"

"No."

She frowned. "Why not? There are programs—"

"I was born off-world. The food…does not agree with my system."

"Ah."

Vito wiped his mouth and sat back. "What are you good at in school, kid?"

Spock considered. "Everything."

It was true, but he didn't mention how much harder it was to concentrate on Earth than it was on Vulcan. It was hard to make numbers or concepts fit together in his mind when thoughts of whether his mother had found employment yet or whether they would eat that night filled it instead. And when his head swam with sick dizziness, as it did more and more often, numbers and letters seemed to float across his vision, but he could not force them into an order that made sense.

"I just bet." The older boy leaned forward. "But what do you like best?"

"Science." He normally had to work harder to subdue his enthusiasm for science, but the pasta distracted him. _Do not act shamefully. Vulcans can go many days without eating._ "Math. Computers. My father taught me computers."

He abruptly directed his gaze over Vito's shoulder again. Perhaps he should not mention his father.

Vito laughed. "Science and computers? You don't need a crummy restaurant job, kid. You need to join Starfleet. Genius like you could go far."

Spock raised one eyebrow as he had seen his father do. "Are Vulcans permitted to join Starfleet?" His father had never mentioned it as an option for Spock's future. Spock was destined for the Vulcan Science Academy. Or at least, he had been, but perhaps they would no longer want him.

"Sure they are." Vito rose and, still talking, placed his plate in the sink and began to spray it. "They got this Federation deal; it's all about people from different planets working together. They'd love you."

"Vito, for God's sake, shut up a minute!" Maria snapped. Vito grinned and gave Maria a mock salute. She rolled her eyes and turned back to Spock. "I'll make you a deal."

"I am amenable to discussion." Spock put his hands together and pressed the fingers to his lips. Perhaps the pressure could counterbalance the saliva gathering in his mouth.

"You're amena—well." Maria blew out a breath. "We'll discuss the terms of your employment if you eat what I put in front of you."

"I do not understand."

"That's the deal. I can't think straight if you don't eat. You want to talk jobs or not?"

"But why would my food intake influence your—"

Vito roared with laughter. "She's Italian, kid. Just go with it."

"Indeed." He had no idea what was going on. His hands shook and his stomach churned. "I seem to have an advantage in our arrangement."

"Just eat." She grabbed the plate of pasta and set it roughly in front of him.

"As you wish."

Instead of devouring it as his body clamored for him to do, he drew on every last vestige of his Vulcan training. Not only was it unseemly to eat quickly, it was bad for the body. He had learned during his Kahs-wan that when you did find food, it was best to eat it slowly or it would shock the body into illness.

Besides, he did not know when he would eat again. It was best to save some food for later, and of course, he had to bring some back to his mother. He raised the fork slowly, pushed aside the sausages, and twirled a precise portion of spaghetti onto the utensil.

"That's better," Maria said. "Now, what time can you be here after school?"

Spock took a bite and swallowed. "My school is not very near here. I believe I could be here at four o'clock."

"That will do. Your duties will be to do whatever needs to be done. You can help Vito with the cooking or the dishes, take out trash, bus tables—" She looked him over. "Maybe not that last one. It's not exactly legal for me to have a ten-year-old working here. Especially one from off-world."

"He doesn't look ten," Vito said. "And he can wear a cap to cover the ears. He could pass for Italian."

"Well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Maria said, shaking her head. "Your wages will be ten credits and two meals each night. Is this acceptable?"

"Two meals?"

"Yes. You will eat one here and take one home with you. Understood?"

Spock smoothed the napkin on his lap. A full meal every day, plus a meal for his mother? And ten credits on top of it all?

"Yes," Spock said. "I will work hard for you. I will not make you ashamed."

"Asha—" Maria began.

Vito cut her off. "Damn right you'll work hard, kid. Maria here's a slave driver."

"But slaves do not receive wages," Spock said. He swallowed against his alarm and worked to keep any expression off his face. He looked back at Maria. "I cannot be a slave."

"It was a figure of speech," she said gently. "You are not a slave, Spock. You will work for me and I will pay you what we've agreed. All right?"

His shoulders slumped in relief, but he quickly straightened them again. "Yes, ma'am."

"I'm tellin' you kid, you oughtta do what I'm going to do," Vito said. He pulled a yellow bucket on wheels out from under the sink and began filling it up. "Don't get yourself stuck here. Take that scientific brain and enlist in Starfleet."

Maria rolled her eyes. "Vito, the boy's ten!"

"I do not yet know what my future holds," Spock said. "But for now, I am proud to do honorable work for good people."

"Good," Maria said. She turned away, and Spock thought she wiped something from her face, but he could not see what. "You've barely eaten half that spaghetti and you didn't touch the sausages. Box it up and take it home to your mother, and report back here at four tomorrow."

_I have not eaten flesh and I have not accepted charity. I may be only half Vulcan, but I have not lost my honor._

"Yes, ma'am."

Vito dropped a styrofoam box onto the table. Spock began to fork the pasta into the box, making sure to include the uneaten sausages. His mother might like them.


End file.
